The next morning Blaine woke up by Kurt running his fingers through his hair. When he opened his eyes he saw Kurt’s big, blue staring into his.

“I didn’t want to wake you up, but I figured we’d better be ready for when your father comes home.” Kurt let his hand fall so he could let his head rest on his arm, as he observed Blaine coming to his senses.

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for waking me up,” Blaine stammered, sad to know that this could possibly have been his last night of sharing a bed with Kurt.

“I’ll go take a shower and then I’ll move my bag to the guestroom and make it look like I’ve been there the last two days, alright,” Kurt exclaimed without waiting for Blaine to respond. He slid out of the bed, and tripped to the door, where he left it open so Blaine could watch him swaying hips down the hall to the bathroom.

As he closed the bathroom door after him Blaine dropped to his back on the mattress. He ran his fingers through his hair, and rubbed his eyes, as he could feel his natural morning male urges running wild, making a chill run over his skin. It couldn’t be because of Kurt - of course it couldn’t.

He waited for it to go away by itself, but he kept thinking about Kurt, and it just wouldn’t stop; so he decided to go downstairs to make breakfast ready for Kurt when he was done showering.

*

They spent the day lying on their backs reading in front of the garden doors where they were bathed in a hot stream of sun filling the living room. They started out by lying a feet from each other, but without Blaine even noticing it Kurt ended up lying with his head on Blaine’s ribs.

It wasn’t until late afternoon they heard the door open, and Blaine sat up in panic and nearly made Kurt’s head clash to the carpet. He glared at Kurt through the corner of his eyes as he moved to sit against the wall. Kurt didn’t seem tensed by the situation, but Blaine had a feeling that he was nervous but refused to let it shine through - or maybe he was projecting his own nerves to Kurt.

Blaine forced himself to take control of his breathing, and kept his gaze locked in his book without actually reading a word or even seeing the letters over the paper.

“Blaine. Get down here. It’s important!” His father’s voice was a booming up the stairs, and Blaine could feel Kurt glance at him from the startle he just had.

“I’m in here, dad,” Blaine said, barely loud enough for his father to hear it in the hall.

He hurried to his feet and Kurt instinctively knew to follow his example, so he straightened his shirt and he made sure he didn’t stand too close to Blaine.

His father appeared and walked in to stand in the middle of the room as an intimidating shadow. He shot a glance up and down Kurt, in a way Blaine could only interpret as arrogant and judgmental, so Blaine gritted his teeth and balled up his fists.

“I didn’t know you had a visitor. And who is this?” His father looked to Blaine for an answer, and he could feel his ears grow red. He was so ashamed to have Kurt witness this.

“Dad. This is… Kurt. He lives at the other end of town. He came the other day and have been staying over for a few days.” Blaine didn’t think he needed to add that he had met Kurt in Washington; that would very likely only cause troubles, and he wanted to get out of the living room as quickly as possible - preferably alive. Even more important was to get Kurt out alive.

“Hi. Mr. Anderson.” Kurt surprised Blaine and took a respectful step forward. He offered his hand to Blaine’s father who stared at it for a minute, but eventually shook it with a suspicious look on his face.

“Hi. I will have to ask you to leave the living room - I would like a word alone with my son,” Blaine’s father said in a tone that most of all reminded of an order.

Kurt nodded in agreement and left the room without as much as a glance in Blaine’s direction, which Blaine appreciated. He could hear his footsteps disappear up the stairs, and now he was alone with his father.

“I got the news. I arranged the funeral to be Tuesday. Tomorrow. Your friend will be out of the house Saturday morning,” his father declared.

So he knew, but he didn’t come home. He knew that his wife was dead, and yet he stayed at work, leaving his teenage son to take care of himself, Blaine’s thoughts roared in his head.

“What? You knew?” Blaine burst out in shock, unable to stop himself, well-knowing he shouldn’t have said a word. At a very young age he had learned that he wasn’t to question or talk back at his father.

But he didn’t care.

“Don’t you talk back to me, kid. Of course I knew. They called me as soon as they got her in. No surprise - she always was a cuckoo. Now get out of here, I’ve got a lot of work today as I won’t be working Tuesday.” His father looked down at him as if to say that he was dismissed before he turned on his heel and left the living room in the direction of his office.

Blaine had never despised his father more. He felt physically sick by the light way he had handled it, and he wanted to scream at him that he was a disrespectful prick.

He didn’t. He knew that it would only cause bigger problems, and he didn’t want that  to happen with Kurt in the house. Instead he sprinted up the stairs with a deep wish to find Kurt in his room. What if he had thought it best to go to the guestroom? Then Blaine would find his room as cold as empty and it had been before Kurt had come.

When he reached his room at the end of the hall he closed his hand around the doorknob and inhaled before he slowly opened and entered his room.

Kurt was sitting on the bed with his arms locked around his knees, but when he saw Blaine enter the room he ran over to throw his arms around him.

Blaine lost all control. He was so angry at his father that tears welled into his eyes, and he didn’t even bother to try keeping them in anymore, because it didn’t matter.

Kurt let his hand run soothingly up and down his back, and Blaine clenched his arms as hard around him as he could. He pressed him as close as possible, and hoped that his anger would disappear, but somehow it just kept growing.

“Come here,” Kurt said and released his grip, forcing Blaine to do the same, so they could go lie down on the bed.

Kurt laid down on his back, and let Blaine put his head on his chest. He let his fingertips trace up and down Blaine’s back and through his hair while humming comforting sounds in his ear - and even though Blaine soaked his shirt in tears he didn’t stop or move the tiniest bit.

“Shhh, it’s okay, darling,” Kurt crooned in his ear. Blaine started feeling drained for tears, and his fingers had completely crumpled up his shirt by clenching it in an attempt of controlling his rage.

“He’s such an asshole. I just wanna… punch him,” Blaine sobbed through a rasp voice into Kurt’s chest.

“I know. But you won’t - and that’s the difference between you two; you are a good person and know that would be wrong.”

Kurt let his fingertips brush lightly down his neck, and he made the hair on Blaine’s arms rise with a chill running down his spine. A warmth spread through Blaine’s body - Kurt thought he was a good person.

He sat up and looked at Kurt - his eyes felt dry and itchy, so he rubbed them and made himself feel like a 3 year old.

“I… I understand if you don’t wanna stay here anymore. In a house with a person like that,” Blaine said apologetically, and he meant every word he said. He wished that he had a choice himself. That was when he realized that he hadn’t told Kurt about the military school his father wanted to send him to. He couldn’t.

Kurt sat up himself, and his eyes were understanding and sympathetic.

“I don’t. But I am not going to leave you here. You can’t be alone with him,” Kurt assured him and placed his hands gently to his face.

“I won’t leave you, Blaine,” he said with a force that caught Blaine off guard.

Kurt’s eyes flickered, as if to make sure that Blaine had understood exactly what he was saying. Blaine felt a fat tear escape his red eyes, and nodded, unable to form a coherent sentence. He closed his eyes, and hoped that no more tears were about to come.

That’s when he felt it.

Soft, moist lips at the corner of his mouth.

Kurt’s lips wasn’t meeting Blaine’s but were pressed softly against his cheek right at the corner of his mouth. Close enough for Blaine to wish that he was brave enough to move his head just the tiny bit that was needed for him to taste Kurt’s lips.

Kurt pulled away while brushing his thumb over Blaine’s cheekbone, and his lips left a warm mark against his skin. It was almost like a burning hot print - like a fingerprint made by lips. A print by unique lips; a print that would never disappear. Blaine was certain that the feeling of Kurt’s lips would burn into his skin and never leave - and he was happy and felt comforted by the though that it never would.

“One day I will get you away from here,” Kurt promised. Blaine opened his eyes again, afraid to see that it wasn’t Kurt who was sitting with him.

Kurt’s hands had dropped to his lap, and he was wearing a firm and determined expression Blaine had never seen him wear before, and he knew that he meant it. It wasn’t an empty promise, or a spur of the moment statement - it ran much deeper than that.

Kurt fell back to lie down, and Blaine followed his lead. He wanted to snuggle back close to Kurt, but he was afraid that it would be crossing the line after the kiss, and he was sure that he needed to damp off the last steams of rage.

Kurt shifted to lie on his side, so he could face Blaine, and his eyes transformed to sad orbs.

Neither of them said anything for a long time. They stayed on the bed and watched the shadows in the room change as the sun started to go down, and the sunlight changed from yellow to red and golden, eventually being replaced by darkness.

When Blaine heard his father’s bedroom door close they waited 20 minutes and then they tiptoed downstairs to eat in silence. They hurried so they could tiptoe back upstairs when they suddenly remembered that Kurt had to go into the room next to the bathroom instead of down the hall with Blaine.

They stood awkwardly at the top of the stairs for a little while, before Kurt squeezed Blaine’s hand lightly and disappeared into the guestroom. Now Blaine was left to walk alone down the hall through the darkness, the walk somehow feeling incredible long and lonely, and his heart feeling in one time heavy and light.

When he was under his covers he watched the moonlight that had fought through strip in the closed curtains, and he couldn’t stop thinking about Kurt’s soft lips touching his skin. He hadn’t been wrong; the burning print was still as clear as it had been right after he had moved away.

He hated himself for not having been brave enough to move his head that tiny bit in the right direction - he needed to feel Kurt’s lips against his for just a second. He needed to taste them, and let them mark his lips as well as his skin.

He wasn’t sure whether he was sleeping or not, but the last thing he remembered was Kurt’s silhouette dancing in the moonbeam in front of him, while the craving for his touch kept growing stronger.

Yet a dry voice in the back of his head kept telling him that it was wrong, and that he should stop these thoughts and feelings from coming to him. After all; Kurt was a boy, and boys do not feel for boys.